


Fingerprint Dust

by irishfino



Series: We Rise From Dust [6]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Gen, westwells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 11:52:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11035653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishfino/pseuds/irishfino
Summary: Joe stops by to see his grandbabies. HR unwittingly reveals he and Iris have hooked up.





	Fingerprint Dust

                Iris has the softest lips he has ever kissed. Truly she’s soft all over, but he can feel those muscles moving under her skin, under his hands as they glide up her sides. But it’s her lips that he can’t get enough of. They’re full and soft and _perfect_. And he’s kissing those lips right now. How blessed he is to be kissing the sun.

                “We should go to bed,” she says.

                He pulls up and back. He’s practically mounted her on the sofa in her living area, but if it’s time to stop, it’s time to stop.

                “Right, right,” he agrees breathlessly. “You’ve got a busy day tomorrow and you should sleep.”

                She pushes herself up onto her elbows. “ _We_ ,” she says, “should go to _bed_.”

                Oh. _Oooh_. He nods and grins. “To bed.”

* * *

                Thunk. _Thump_.

                “Shit.”

                He opens his eyes in time to see Iris stumbling around the bedroom gathering up his clothes wearing only a robe of some sort. Burgundy. Very pretty.

                “Hey,” he says, his voice rough with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

                “My dad’s here.”

                Oh. _Shit_.

                He scrambles around Iris’ bedroom trying to find his overnight bag. It’s by the couch where he usually sleeps. Damn. And Iris is in nothing but a bathrobe. And it would be weird for her to be the one to retrieve his overnight bag from the couch and bring it upstairs. It implies an intimacy that, while there, is very, very new.

                He rolls out of bed, takes the clothing Iris has gathered from the night before, and shoos her out. Under normal circumstances she would huff at his audacity, but it’s better if he finds the rest on his own.

                He can hear the kids, already awake and playing with Pawpaw, down in the living area. He hops into his clothing from the night before, runs a hand through his hair – “Hair, don’t fail me now!” – and stumbles his way down the narrow staircase leading from the loft into the open space of the first level. He hurries into the kitchen and busies himself with making breakfast. He can hear Iris excuse herself to the upstairs and he breathes a small sigh of relief. He ducks his head into the fridge to find the eggs, milk, and juice when Joe says something behind him. He jumps and slams his head into the top of the cold cabinet he’s leaned into. He grabs what he’s looking for and pulls back from the fridge.

                “I’m sorry, my mind was elsewhere. Would you mind repeating what you said?”

                “You’ve got scratches down your back.”

                Damn tank top! “Fought a cat,” he replies. He glides over to the counter closest to the stove and sets down the items he was holding. “Tom cat. Big, fat, mean thing. Stole one of my drumsticks.”

                “Uh huh,” Joe replies. _Damn his detective skills_.

                “Did you already eat, Joe? I can make extra if you’re hungry.”

                “I’m good thanks.” There’s a pause that is tenser than a stretched-out rubber band. “I know I don’t have to say anything.” _Thank god_. “But, just in case.” _Please no_. “Donnie prefers milk with breakfast.”

                He huffs a relieved laugh. “He does, but Iris wants him to try drinking more juice. He won’t eat veg as it is. He and Dawn trade foods sometimes.”

                And that was that. The rest of the morning went rather well if he did say so himself, and he did, several times. It wasn’t until Joe was leaving that he pointed out the love bite on HR’s left shoulder. _Dammit_.


End file.
